Close Your Eyes
by Bailadora
Summary: One night changes everything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been playing with this idea for a few months now and I really hope that it hasn't been done before. This chapter has a strong T rating for, um, sexual situations. **

Temperance twirled her spoon through the soggy mass of cereal in her bowl, eyes glued to the computer screen. The limp Frosted Flakes floated in small clumps, long past their edible stage. Temperance hadn't noticed this, and she scooped a spoonful into her mouth. Now almost jelly-like, the previously crispy flakes slid down her throat in a sickening glob.

Finally tearing her eyes from the screen, she looked down into the bowl. With a grimace she pushed it away and her fingers found the keyboard again. She wasn't that hungry anyway.

She plinked away at the keys, loosing herself in Kathy's world. The sky outside her window grew darker until it looked as though a blanket of black had been draped over the building. Wind howled, a reminder of the summer storm due that night.

With one final resounding tap of the spacebar, Temperance sat back, her inspiration exhausted. Her own day came flooding back in a blur of images and a sigh escaped her lips. Sure, she'd given a name to the girl whose bones had resided on her examination table for the last few days, but that was never enough.

Her fingers itched to keep typing, but no more words would come. Frustrated, she slumped back into the couch. Her stomach gave a sharp growl and she glanced forlornly at the cereal bowl. She wasn't going to try _that_ again.

Clicking 'Save,' she stood and stretched, vaguely wondering how long she'd been sitting in front of her laptop. She headed to the kitchen, stepping over a basket of unfolded laundry on the way. She stood in front of the open refrigerator, eyes probing every shadow for something decent to eat. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she welcomed the cool air on her skin. Deciding there was nothing of interest in the fridge, she sighed, turned off the lights, and flumped back onto the couch. It was just one of those kinds of days.

Having given up on her writing, she laid back and closed her eyes. The wind picked up and was keeping her from falling into a deep sleep, but she drifted off nonetheless, dreaming in disjointed bits and pieces. She saw the girl in her stainless steel lab. The killer had removed her left hand and Temperance wondered where it had ended up. Booth entered the lab carrying an evidence bag. He told her it contained a hand. When she opened it she didn't find a hand; she found a hamburger. She licked her lips and just as she was about to take a bite there was a knock at the door.

Temperance flinched, rolled over. The hamburger was gone.

Another knock, more persistent this time.

Groaning and rubbing her eyes, Temperance got to her feet. A look at the clock told her there was only one person that could be standing on the other side of her door. She stumbled through the dark, sniffing the air and hoping he brought Thai.

He knocked again as she was unchaining the lock. "Hold on," she muttered and pulled open the door.

He hadn't brought Thai. His hands, usually carrying cartons of steaming food, were tucked into his pockets. His shoulders drooped and his shirt was wrinkled, as if he had grabbed it from a pile off the floor.

"Booth," she murmured startled at his appearance.

"Can I come in?" He wouldn't meet her probing gaze; instead he stared at a spot over her left shoulder.

Temperance nodded and opened the door wider. He stepped inside and followed her to the couch, where they sat side by side, knees barely touching. Neither of them said anything, but Temperance knew he would explain himself when he was ready. She could now make out the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks. She hadn't heard from him at all that day; he hadn't shown up at the lab. At the time it seemed odd, but she'd shoved it out of her mind. Now she wondered if that had been a mistake. She should have called him.

For a while, the only sounds where those of the wind and the clock ticking out the passing seconds. When he spoke, the words were so quiet Temperance wasn't sure she'd heard right.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

He finally looked up to face her, and there was a pain in his eyes that she had never seen before. "Temperance, I'm leaving."

"What do you mean, 'leaving'?"

Booth drew a deep breath. "I'm going undercover. I don't know how long."

Temperance said nothing, her mind reeling. Booth took her hand in his and she concentrated on that. It was the only thing that seemed real right now.

"Where?" she whispered.

"Quebec."

Temperance jumped up. "But you don't even speak French!"

"That doesn't matter to them. I'm the best they've got."

For the first time, Temperance realized how exhausted his voice was. He sounded defeated.

She began to pace, thinking quickly. "I'll go with you."

"Temperance—" He stood and grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop pacing. "You know you can't do that."

He was right. She'd known it was impossible as soon as the words came out of her mouth, but hearing it from him somehow made it real. A single tear coursed down her check. Booth pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her and refusing to let go.

"Don't cry, Bones," he warned. His own voice threatened tears.

Her tear dripped onto his shirt, a small pool of black on the dark gray fabric. Staring at that small, insignificant dot she felt more tears welling up behind her eyes. He gathered her in closer, squeezed her tighter. She didn't want to let go, almost wishing they could stay this way forever.

Another tear silently escaped her eye. Booth kissed the top of her head, murmuring consolations.

"Everything will be fine."

The tears were flowing freely now and Temperance made no effort to hold them back. Booth tipped her chin up and gazed into her watery eyes, his own betraying every one of his emotions. With his thumb he brushed the wetness from her cheeks. Then suddenly it was his lips that were whisking her tears away.

One determined teardrop trailed down to her quivering lip and he kissed that one away as well. She wound her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer and kissed him back, trying to convey years of words never spoken in that single kiss. Booth seemed to understand. His tongue touched her lips and she opened her mouth to him. Once they'd had that first taste, there was no turning back. Their tongues collided, sweeping across each other. Booth's hand dropped to the small of her back where it so often resided, but now instead of making her angry it made her feel safe. She'd never felt anything like this before, never needed someone so bad. Never experienced a kiss so tender and passionate.

Booth brought his hand back up to the side of her face, fingers in her hair and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Temperance closed her eyes and lost herself in him. His stubble scratched her cheeks and he was holding her wrist so tight it almost hurt, but Temperance had never enjoyed a kiss more.

Booth pulled back and stared at his partner with a fierce intensity in his eyes. Temperance stared back, knowing he would be kissing her again soon enough.

She was right; he attacked her lips again. What had started off innocent and sweet had now turned hungry and frenzied. Temperance felt as though she was floating, and for a few moments she allowed herself the indulgence of turning off her brain and thinking with other parts of her body.

Booth's hands had moved to her waist and his touch burned through her clothes. Temperance suddenly wished there was nothing separating his skin from hers and as if reading her thoughts, Booth took her by the hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom.

She couldn't help but marvel at the security of his touch. He gently laid her back on her bed and began peeling her clothing off. Temperance watched the look in his eyes, the look that showed he'd always wanted this. Wanted it just as bad as she did.

The way his gaze traveled over her naked frame didn't make her uncomfortable, it made her feel complete. He brushed the hair away from her face, his fingers barely grazing her skin. She leaned into his touch, loosing herself in this new sense of belonging.

Admitting to herself that she couldn't wait anymore, Temperance reached up to undo Booth's belt buckle. He grabbed her wrist and held it tight.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

The way he looked at her, the slight rasp in his voice…the hint of hesitation. "I want _you_, Booth."

Her words seemed to surprise him. She drew in a shaky breath, afraid to say what had been on her mind since the first time she'd laid her eyes on him. "I've always wanted you," she whispered softly.

Booth allowed her to unbuckle his belt and slip off his pants, placing light kisses down her neck as she did so. Breathless with anticipation, she rid him of the rest of his clothes. She'd always known he was healthy and muscular, but to see him here, kneeling above her, put it into a different perspective. Between his arms she felt safe.

The lovemaking was different than any other sex she'd ever had. It was slow and sweet and gentle. They were breaking the laws of physics, occupying the same space, just as Booth said they could. She hadn't wanted to believe him at the time, but now…

She curled up as close to him as she could, holding him tight and knowing she might never see him again. Her head rested on his chest and rose and fell with his rhythmic breathing.

Booth traced her lips with his thumb. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed reluctantly. She'd thought she was so strong and independent, but lying in bed with Booth seemed to have changed that. She wanted him to take care of her. To protect her.

After a few uncertain moments, she relaxed against him. The sounds of the raging storm outside faded away. She drifted off to the steady beat of Booth's heart.

-OoOoOoOo-

Booth didn't sleep. How could he with his beautiful Bones snoring lightly on top of him? The entire night he'd fought with himself; it didn't seem right to leave now. Actually, it had never seemed right, but now it was just plain wrong. Temperance had shown him a side of her he rarely saw, a vulnerability she quite possibly didn't even know she had.

He hadn't come to her house expecting sex, though he couldn't say he hadn't imagined it happening.

Glancing over at the alarm clock, he realized that he was probably going to miss his flight. The thought only made him hug his partner closer.

His cell phone trilled. He cringed at the interruption, but Temperance never even flinched. His heart nearly shattering in the process, Booth disentangled himself from her and slipped out of her bed.

He searched the floor for his discarded clothing, thinking that Temperance would probably be madder at him if he neglected his duties and stayed in D.C. than if he left. At least he hoped that was what she'd think.

When finally he was dressed in his day-old clothes, Booth allowed his gaze to linger on his sleeping partner. For three years they had danced around each other, for three years denied everything there was between them. One night was a good start, but he wanted more. And he wouldn't live until he got it.

He considered waking her, decided against it. She looked so peaceful with her auburn hair splayed out on the pillow and her lips curled up in a little smile. He swept over to the side of the bed and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. With one last whispered goodbye, he left the room.

In the kitchen he stopped dead in his tracks. He had to tell her…

He searched for a piece of paper and something to write with. Knowing his partner as well as he did, the search didn't take long. Tapping the pen against his chin, he debated what to write.

Deciding to go with the less poetic version, Booth scrawled three words on the paper. He left it out where he knew she would see it and, loathing himself for it, walked out of her apartment, closing the door silently behind him.

-OoOoOoOo-

Temperance woke with an undeniable feeling of joy. The previous night had been the best of her life. She'd finally made that risky leap and it had paid off.

She'd rolled over to wake Booth with a kiss.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He wasn't there.

In a panic, she leapt out of bed and snatched a t-shirt off the floor to cover her nakedness. Bare feet pattering on the cold floor, she checked every room in her apartment, her dread mounting as she found each one empty.

When finally she came to the conclusion that she was alone, she sulked back to the kitchen.

Of course he was gone. He'd said he was leaving. She couldn't expect him to break his commitment to his country.

But what about his commitment to her?

_He hadn't made the commitment,_ she thought to herself. _I hopped him._

Something about that phrase didn't sound quite right, but Booth wasn't there to correct her.

Sighing, she slouched against the counter and dropped her head into her hands, mentally kicking herself for feeling this way. She was a strong, independent, intelligent, motivated, rational woman, and she kept telling herself that.

Not feeling any better, she opened her eyes and searched for something to eat. At once she noticed the little yellow notepad that usually resided in the drawer with all her pens. She grabbed it and read Booth's untidy scrawl with more tears welling in her eyes.

_I love you._

A single tear fell from the strong, independent, intelligent, motivated, rational woman's eye. It dripped onto the paper, blurring the 'y.'

She stared at those three simple words and somehow knew they were true. She glanced up, almost expecting to see Booth standing in front of her, a smile etched across his lips.

But of course he wasn't there.

He was gone.

**A/N: I'll give you a cookie if you let me know what you think. C:**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I forgot to mention that I got the idea for this story from the song 'You Can Close Your Eyes.' Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. C: **

Temperance wasn't usually one to cry.

She'd thought her reserve of tears was dry by now, with all the crying she'd done last night. But now as more tears welled up in her eyes, she found it hard to hold them back.

The small piece of paper was still in her hands and she read it over and over. She could picture Booth searching her kitchen for the pen and could see him taping it against his chin, trying to think up something meaningful to write.

A guttural choke escaped her lips, the result of attempting to prolong the inevitable.

She swiped at her eyes. She was not going to cry. Not again.

She stumbled towards the bathroom. If she was going to get to work on time, she would have to hurry.

As rivulets of water coursed over her body, she cursed Booth for leaving. She cursed him for coming over and for holding her when she cried. She cursed him for seeing her so weak and for how gentle he'd been when he kissed her.

She scrubbed ferociously at her skin, leaving angry red lines with the loofah. She tried to wash away everything that had happened the previous night, but the memories were still clear in her mind. She couldn't seem to make them swirl together and disappear like the bubbles escaping down the drain. If anything, they strengthened, becoming unmistakable from dream or fantasy. And they were impossible to get rid of.

As the water grew colder, Temperance found herself pulling back into them. She shivered and remembered how she'd done the same thing last night. Booth had thrown the covers over them and pressed closer to her, whispering in her ear, telling her she was beautiful.

She cursed his voice and the way it made her feel safe, but her heart wasn't in it. She wasn't really mad.

Disappointed? Yes.

Frustrated? Yes.

Confused? Very.

The water was now unbearably cold, like icy pellets hitting her back. Teeth chattering, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her naked frame.

She toweled her hair dry, still thinking up reasons to hate Booth and still not believing any of them. When she flipped her head back up, she found herself face to face with the foggy mirror. With her hand she cleared a circle the size of her face.

Her eyes held a vulnerability she'd never seen in herself before. Normally she could hold back her emotions, hide them from the rest of the world. But now even she could see every little thing she felt. It was all displayed right there in her blue-gray eyes.

The circle on the mirror was growing larger as the air in the bathroom cooled. Knowing it would do more hurt than good, she dropped the towel.

Her body was toned, the reward for all the hours she spent at the gym. Her breasts were firm and not at all saggy, her nipples taut. She tilted her head, searching for what Booth had seen that made him say the three words she never expected to hear from anyone.

She couldn't find it.

-OoOoOoOo-

Makeup finished, teeth brushed, and hair swept up in a loose bun, Temperance thought she looked almost normal.

She confidently entered her bedroom, telling herself that she would make it through this, when she stopped dead in her tracks. Her clothes were still scattered across the floor. The sheets were still rumpled from their passionate lovemaking and there was still an outline in the pillow where Booth's head had lain.

_I am a strong, independent, intelligent, motivated, rational woman._

She walked straight past the bed, determinedly not looking at it. Her foot snagged on her bra and she quickly shook it off. When she reached the closet she grabbed things out, not bothering to see if it matched. She just wanted to get out of that room.

_I am a strong, independent, intelligent, motivated, rational woman._

She hurried past the bed and when she got back to the bathroom, shut the door and locked it behind her. She sunk down onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and taking deep breaths.

After a few moments she squared her shoulders and stood. She'd gotten along fine without Booth before, and she could get along fine without him now.

She dressed and strode back into the kitchen and was just throwing her keys into her purse when the little yellow notepad caught her eye. She picked it up and read the three words one more time, trying to figure out his logic behind writing it.

Without knowing why, she tore off the paper, folded it in half twice, and tucked it in her pocket.

**A/N: Please, please, **_**please **_**let me know if her emotions are coming through okay. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Because the last chappie was really short, here's the next. (Okay, well that and the fact that I think you guys are great. And since this weekend is Walleye Weekend--it's a Wisconsin thing, you wouldn't understand :D--and I don't think I'll be writing because I won't be nowhere near a computer. And because I'm celebrating the LAST DAY OF MY SOPHOMORE YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL w00t!! C: ) By the way, Zach will be in this story because, well, I love him. **

The air still carried the fresh scent of rain, but the sky was now a crystal blue and the clouds fluffy and white. The grass was a near-emerald green and birds were chirruping to each other from trees whose leaves fluttered gently in the soft breeze.

Temperance didn't notice any of this as she unlocked her car and tossed her bag into the passenger seat. She didn't notice how the flowers she'd planted in front of her building had finally blossomed or how the leather was warm against her legs.

She was numb.

She stared straight ahead, the smell of car and the little pine-shaped air freshener surrounding her. Booth had picked her up for work just a few days earlier. They'd stopped at the diner and he ate a slice of pie for breakfast, offering forkfuls of it to her while she shook her head and sipped her coffee. And he'd watched her, his smile so heartfelt that she could see it in his eyes. She looked down shyly but could still feel him watching. When she glanced up, his contagious grin appeared on her face too.

She threw the car into drive and pointed it towards the Jeffersonian.

The drive was as mindless as she could make it. Whenever thoughts of Booth flooded in, she quickly plugged the leak that had burst in the dam she was building to hold him back. She thought of work and of her book and made a list of the things she had to do at home. But Booth was an ocean, and he kept pushing his way back in. Jasper the Pig was stuck to her dashboard, yellow putty oozing out from under his feet. Booth's handprints were still on the steering wheel from when he'd driven her home after an afternoon spent playing in the sandbox at the park with Parker. An ice cream truck with a giant clown head on the roof drove by her in the opposite direction.

Blocking him out was pointless. He was everywhere.

The walk from her car to the steps of the Jeffersonian seemed endless. She was readying herself, putting her emotions into a box she never planned on opening and trying her hardest not to look defeated.

She spent the entire morning in her office, catching up on old paperwork and avoiding her colleagues. But after lunch Zach asked if they could pull out a limbo case and work on it.

With a sigh, Temperance got up and helped him lay out the bones of a young man with very bad dentition. She welcomed the silence of working with Zach. They spoke occasionally, using scientific words and the Latin phrases doctors commonly conferred with, so even when they did talk, it wasn't really…talking. It was discussing. Temperance didn't think she could handle much more than that.

When his shift was over, Zach packed up his things and left. If he'd noticed anything wrong with her, he hadn't thought to mention it. Temperance appreciated that.

The lab was eerily quiet without Booth. She almost missed him standing over her shoulder, questioning every single thing she did. She missed having private laughs in her office after explaining to him what role osteoclasts played in bone deformation. But most of all she missed his presence, the presence that kept her in check while studying the deceased. There was something calming about him that made it seem okay to pick up a bone and describe the person it belonged to. With anyone else around, she felt as though she was desecrating something larger than the individual parts that made up a body. But with Booth it felt right. It felt like she was doing something useful. Worthwhile.

Shaking those thoughts, her eyes roved the nameless bones, searching for some hidden clue that would explain everything. There were mended breaks on both the tibia and fibula of the right leg that had not been set properly and the man's toes were oddly crunched. Other than that, he seemed normal. Or his bones did, anyway. She would ask Zach what he thought the toes meant, but Temperance was fairly certain that the man had been a dancer.

She glanced up at the clock. Three whole minutes had passed since she'd thought of Booth. She congratulated herself on the accomplishment.

"So, where is he?"

Temperance nearly dropped the ulna she was holding, but her professionalism kicked in just in time. She placed the bone gently on the examination table and looked calmly at Angela.

"Hodgins left already," Temperance told her.

Angela rolled her eyes. "You know I'm not talking about Hodgins."

Temperance looked down; somehow Angela could read her like she could read bones. And that scared her. "I don't know where he is." Another bone was in her hands now, and she turned it carefully, examining it, grateful for something to do with her eyes.

Angela didn't say anything for a few moments, watching her friend work. "It's weird without him, isn't it?" she asked, echoing Temperance's thoughts. "I wonder why that is."

"He brought life into this place," Temperance murmured, surprising both of them.

Angela nodded and paused again. "So you really don't know?"

"Where he is? No." Even as she said it she could feel herself shattering all over again.

Angela eyed her and Temperance could tell that she didn't believe a word that had come out of her mouth. "When you're ready to tell me, I'll be right here," she said, sounding entirely sincere.

"Thanks, Ange."

And then Angela was gone, too.

-OoOoOoOo-

The door clicked shut behind her, and as she latched the chain, instead of feeling like she was locking the world out like she usually did, it felt like she was closing herself in. The memories of the previous night flooded in around her. The air was so full that she felt as if she had to swim through them just to make it from room to room. She moved to the spot where he had first kissed her and stood there with her arms around herself, rocking back and forth and trying not to cry. And before she knew what she was doing, she was sinking to the floor, where she sat trying to bring him back.

She'd never realized just how much she needed him. She'd always known she wanted him, but it wasn't until he was gone that she realized how much stability he added to her life. All it took was him not waiting for her in her office with a case file and a doughnut in the morning for her to know that she needed him.

She couldn't bring him back. But she kept trying anyway.

She was shivering when she finally pulled herself to her feet. Her bedroom door stood open and through it she could see the corner of the bed.

She walked towards it.

Entering the room hurt; it was a pang in the chest that she couldn't describe. She hugged herself tighter and stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the sheets and fighting back tears.

Suddenly she was ripping off her clothes and throwing them to the floor. She crawled under the covers, trying not to move them around too much, not wanting to ruin what had been there the night before. Rolling towards the side Booth had slept on, she caught the scent of him. The scent of their lovemaking.

A tear broke free.

No longer afraid of ruining what had been, she hugged the sheets tight around her, breathing in all she had left of him.

She fell asleep cocooned in her bed, a single confused tear streaking down her cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

Temperance clung to the last tendrils of sleep, but the sun stole them away. It had found a crack in the blinds and was sneaking through, inching its way across her bed and over her face.

She rolled over, away from the light, but any hopes of sleep were gone. Frustrated, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, yawning.

One glance around her room sent her flopping back into her pillow.

She heaved a sigh, mentally checking one night off the calendar.

It wasn't until after she'd dejectedly gone through her morning routine that she'd remembered the little piece of paper. She was on her way out to her car, her mind already swirling around all her duties that day and trying to block out Booth. But that note seemed to be calling to her.

It was scientifically impossible for an inanimate object such as a scrap of paper to call to her; she knew that. But she found herself turning around and heading back up the stairs to her apartment anyway.

The clothes she'd stripped out of the previous night were still scattered around the floor with the clothes she'd lost in her frenzy with Booth. She picked her way through them, tossing things that were dirty into a laundry basket. Tidying up the mess was supposed to make her feel better. It didn't. Instead it made her feel like she was hiding something. Like she was covering up what had been. Forgetting about it.

She found the pants she'd worn to work the previous day lying in a heap at the foot of her bed. The note was still in the pocket, untouched since she'd put it there yesterday morning.

The words would still be the same, the blotch from her tear would still be blurring the 'y.' She opened it anyway and stared at what he had written.

It was some time later that she snapped out of her daze and realized she was going to be late for work. The thought didn't trouble her like it usually would have, though. She didn't rush to gather her things and leave, and she didn't worry about what Cam would say.

The sun that had woken her earlier was now warm and comforting on her back. It almost felt like there was someone with her in the room.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

She was sitting on the floor, the scrap of paper clutched tightly in both hands. There was something about the words that comforted her.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

-OoOoOoOo-

Cam didn't seem at all upset about Temperance showing up at the lab two hours late. In fact, she offered her what looked a lot like a sympathetic smile.

Temperance re-shouldered her bag and walked away from the fleshy body Cam was picking apart.

"Dr. Brennan?"

She stopped and turned to face her, inwardly cringing in anticipation of a newly thought up punishment for her tardiness.

"There's someone in your office to see you," Cam told her. She attempted another smile and Temperance could tell that she was trying not to look sorry for her. But here, under the florescent lights of the medico-legal lab, everything was left in the open to see. Temperance wondered if her own emotions were so visible, but decided that if anyone was capable of masking what they didn't want seen, she was.

"Thanks."

Cam's expression had told her that it wasn't Booth who was waiting for her in her office, but she thought maybe it would be Cullen, there to discuss Booth's whereabouts and condition.

She half smiled at the thought of Cullen in her office, skulls staring at him from every vantage point. She wondered if he would be staring back at them with the same fierce eyes that he often turned on her, or if he would jump when she entered the room.

The lab took on a new brightness as she strode to her office. She was finally going to find out what was happening with Booth. She had so many things that she wanted to ask Cullen, and just as many things that she wanted to yell.

So when she entered her office and found a man who looked sincerely out of place amid the leftovers of the departed, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Agent O'Reilly." He stood and offered a hand before she could choke out a 'Where's Cullen?'

She shook his proffered hand, taking him in as she did so. "Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"I've heard so much about you," he was saying. "I've read your books, of course, and—"

She wasn't listening. He was older than she was, by twenty-five years at the very least. His short hair was gray and receding and he was only a few inches taller than she was. He wore a light blue dress shirt and a darker blue tie with khaki pants, looking as though his wife had dressed him. That combined with his wire-rimmed glasses and deep lines on his face completed the grandfatherly look.

His handshake was the only thing that made her believe that he really was an agent. He had a strong grip, and when he shook, it told her that he meant business.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, "but why are you here? Do you have information about Booth?"

He looked confused. "Booth? Is that a case you're working?"

She shook her head. The weight that had been crushing her shoulders for the last few days sunk back into place.

He didn't seem to notice. "Cullen sent me." Instead of brightening her hopes, it diminished them. This man had obviously never heard of Booth before, and Cullen had sent him, so there could be only one explanation for his appearance.

Sure enough, he gestured back to the chair he had vacated. There was a file resting on it. "I've got us a murder.

-OoOoOoOo-

She didn't want to be out here.

She'd told Agent O'Reilly that at least fifteen times. He hadn't listened.

The drive out to the burial site had passed in silence, but now that she was up to her ankles in mud and decomposing bodily fluids, she was being very vocal.

"I honestly don't know why I'm out here," she muttered under her breath.

For an older man, he sure had good hearing. "You're the best there is."

She hadn't meant for him to hear, but since he had, "I agreed to work cases with Booth. You're not Booth, so I really don't think I want to be out here."

Her comment about him not being Booth had been meant to sting, but since he didn't know Booth he didn't seem to take it as an insult. He just shrugged. "I don't think this guy wants to be out here, either."

Grudgingly, Temperance returned her attention to the man whose bones she was poking through. Of course, he'd said that to get her back to work, and if it had been anyone else she would have refused, but right now she just wanted to get home.

O'Reilly walked around and chatted with the local officers while she worked. He didn't advise people to stay away from the remains in an effort to keep them as uncontaminated as possible. He didn't hover over her shoulder and ask numerous questions about every little thing she did. And there was no way he was taking her to a diner to discuss the case over coffee after she was finished.

It became more obvious as he came over and told her to take her time and not to worry that it was getting dark, she could eat when she was finished, that this man was not Booth.

**A/N: I just about chopped my finger off yesterday. My advice to all of you: don't cut baby carrots with a knife. They roll around a lot. After the first three near misses, I realized that I should probably take my own advice. **

**The beginning chapters of this story wrote themselves. This one did not. If it is at all awkward or if the words just don't see right together, please let me know.**

**Another thing: I've heard some people mention that they would like to see some things from Booth's point of view. I personally thought the story would be more dramatic just following Temperance around, but if you would like to hear about Booth, please raise your hand and if you don't want glimpses into Booth's world, quack like a duck. Or just do something that isn't raising your hand. In the end, my decision to add Booth or not will depend on which group has the most 'votes' so let me know what you think. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: The polls are closed and the votes have been tallied… Thanks to everyone who voted!**

He wished he could call her.

He stared at the cell phone he clutched in his hand. It would be so easy to punch in the numbers and press the little green phone.

He wanted to talk to her.

If he could just hear her voice he knew it would be easier to wake up in the morning. It would give him a reason to keep going. To know that he was protecting her would make him fight harder, shoot straighter, and move faster.

Her number was displayed on the screen.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry.

He was sorry for leaving her and for not telling how much she meant to him before that night.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

The phone was lifted from his hands and flipped shut with a sharp snap. "Don't do it, man."

Mark was right. Calling her would put not only himself and his new partner in jeopardy, it could lead someone dangerous to Temperance. And Booth did not want his Bones to be used as bait.

The man that he now had to put his complete trust in held out the cell phone. Booth reminded himself that Mark was only trying to do what was best for him, but he hated the man a little for it. He stared at the phone, then slipped it into his pocket.

-OoOoOoOo-

Writing had always helped.

Whenever she had something on her mind, she would write about it. If she was confused about an anomaly in the bones she was examining, she would sit down with a notebook and pen and write the body into a story and let Kathy come up with the answer. If she was thinking about her brother and father and wanted to know where they were and what they were doing, she would put herself in their shoes and write what they saw.

It had always been her escape and it had never failed her.

Until now.

She stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, unable to put the pen to the paper and come up with the right words to say.

There were things that she wanted to tell him, of course. There were questions she wanted to ask.

She knew he could explain to her why she was so confused. Booth had an explanation for everything.

The chair she was sitting on was uncomfortable and she fidgeted as she tried to think of something to say. The sky outside was completely black. All the stars were hiding from the lights and brightness of the city.

Temperance was hiding, too.

She'd just gotten out of the shower, her hair still damp and dripping down her back. The baggy shirt she wore hung down past her waist and covered her shorts . She yawned and returned to the letter she was having troubles composing.

Five minutes and a still-blank sheet of paper later, she yawned again. It was past midnight and with everything she'd gone through that day she just wanted to go to bed.

The note Booth had left on the counter for her was right next to her on the table. She'd had it in her pocket all day, and in her hands on the drive back to the Jeffersonian with O'Reilly.

Now she opened it and read what was written in Booth's not-so-tidy scrawl. Had it taken him this long to think of what to write? Or had it come more naturally, as though it had been waiting on the tip of his tongue for the perfect opportunity to say? And what had been so perfect about that opportunity?

Finally coming to terms with the fact that she was never going to think of something to write, Temperance stood and stretched, yawning again. Leaving the note from Booth on the table, she picked up the blank paper she'd been staring at for the last hour and left the building.

The air was cool, cooler than she'd expected. A ripple of goosebumps erupted across her legs. She stood on the steps, looking around the street, a light breeze ruffling the shirt around her legs. The streetlights gave the impression of a dome; their yellow-orange light lit the ground and cast shadows over the houses, but anything above them was out of sight.

Temperance hugged herself and sat down on the steps in front of her building. The cement was cold and scratchy against her legs, but she made no move to get up. She knew that if she tried to go to bed right now she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, Temperance wrote the words _Seeley Booth_ on the paper. The letters were knobbly because she had used the ground as a table, but they were still legible. She set it next to her and watched as the wind picked it up and dropped it a few inches away.

She remembered Booth mentioning that Parker had written a letter to Santa.

"Santa is a fictional man. Parents stress honesty with their children and then make up a man and lie about him to them," she'd said.

He'd raised his eyebrows. "Santa," he said in a serious tone, "is not fictional."

She rolled her eyes but said nothing more about the reality of the fat man. "How would the letter get to the North Pole anyway?" she asked.

"It's the thought that counts."

The paper she'd written his name on was skipping across the grass and into the street. Booth had told her that he and Parker took the letter to the post office and from there it would reach Santa. At the time she'd scoffed at the idea, but now as she watched the paper float away, she wondered if it could work. Maybe it would make it all the way to Booth, and he'd know she was thinking of him.

A car blew by, whipping the paper up around its wheels. _Or maybe_, the more rational part of her brain told her, _it will never reach him at all._

-OoOoOoOo-

The cupcakes were in the oven and her mixer whirred as it combined butter and powder sugar to make frosting. Temperance blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and rubbed her sticky hands against the apron she was wearing.

The oven beeped and she took out the cupcakes and placed them on the counter. The tops had overflowed onto the tin and baked together. Those were going to be interesting to frost.

The air in the kitchen was heavy with summer heat, so when the cupcakes were finally cool enough to decorate, she stood next to the sink, the window over it wide open. Sweat still beaded on her brow.

She filled decorating bags with colored frosting and began to pipe it onto the cupcakes.

Though writing had never failed her before, she decided that baking was the next best thing.

Her stomach grumbled as the aroma of devil's food filled the air. She unwrapped a cupcake and ate it in three bites, then returned to the frosting.

It was nearly a half an hour later that she heard the knock at her door and she'd made so many cupcakes that not even a quarter of them had been frosted yet.

She glanced at the clock. It was nearly one thirty. Under normal circumstances she would've assumed it was Booth on the other side of the door, but he was gone.

Wasn't he?

Torn between the prospect of seeing him and the idea that there was no way it could _be_ him, she opted to stay where she was and continue frosting.

A giggle came from hallway and there was another knock. "Sweetie? It's me."

Her stomach dropped, the ascent it had made in its excitement was over. It wasn't him. Of course it wasn't.

She placed the half-decorated cupcake on the counter and unlocked the door for Angela and Hodgins.

"We were driving by and saw the light on in your window," Angela explained as she pulled Temperance into a tight hug.

"What were you doing out driving around this late?" Temperance asked when Angela finally released her from the confines of her arms.

"Oh, you know," Angela smiled. But Temperance didn't know.

"Something smells good," Hodgins said when Angela moved aside to let him in.

"I was just frosting some cupcakes," Temperance explained, leading them to the kitchen.

"At this time of night?" Angela smacked Hodgins's chest.

"What kind of cupcakes?" she asked.

Angela was a very messy person, Temperance soon found out. She'd managed to get frosting in her hair, on her nose, and smeared on the refrigerator which was on the other side of the room. Hodgins watched from where he sat pretending to read the latest issue of _American Journal of Physical Anthropology_, which she had found in the mail that morning. Usually the magazine was enough to reverse any bad mood, but when she'd opened it planning to read it cover to cover, she found she couldn't concentrate and had read the same paragraph five times without coming away with anything to show for it. Apparently Hodgins was having the same problem.

Angela laughed loudly as frosting squirted out of the bag and splattered the counter and her arm. Temperance forced a smile. Her friend had obviously done a little drinking tonight and she had good intentions, Temperance knew, but right now she really just wanted to be left alone.

Hodgins must have noticed the stiffness in her spine and the fake smile on her face. "Angela, I think we should get going," he said, closing the journal and standing up.

She was about to protest but he raised one eyebrow and looked up and down her frosting covered body.

"Oh," she said, drawing out the word. She moved for the door.

"You can wash up before you go," Temperance told her, a pink flower emerging from the bag of frosting and taking shape on the cupcake she was holding.

"Oh, that's alright, sweetie," she said, eyes aimed at Hodgins. "I'll go home like this."

Hodgins smiled at her and grabbed her hand. They left the apartment, eyes glued to each other.

Temperance sighed when the door closed behind them. The silence was just as bad as the laughter.

She finished the last two cupcakes and leaned up against the counter. The kitchen was a mess, but exhaustion had struck her unexpectedly. She would clean up in the morning.

The shades in her bedroom were not closed, but she still couldn't see the stars against the thick blackness of the sky. It didn't matter. She knew she was falling. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was undeniable. The feeling of being tugged backwards and then going weightless, the sensation of not knowing when it was going to stop.

_How can I be falling if I'm lying down?_ she reasoned.

She closed her eyes and drifted off, gravity still pulling her down.

**A/N: Huge thanks to Fitzroy on this chapter! I've got something planned for you involving a certain food that starts with the letter 'p' and ends with 'e' with only one letter inbetween… **


	6. Chapter 6

The case she was working for O'Reilly was quickly becoming one of the longest investigations she'd ever taken part in. Not only did victims keep popping up, but the pieces of the puzzle just didn't quite snap together like they usually did. The whole team was a wreak without Booth to buffer their conflicting opinions. Hodgins was screaming conspiracy louder than usual, while Angela thought that three middle-aged male victims was a sure sign of a pissed off ex-girlfriend. O'Reilly didn't press for promptness like Booth did, so Zach was double- and triple-checking things he'd already double- and tripled-checked, which gave Temperance very little time alone with the bones. She found it difficult to pry the facts she needed from the bodies with everyone acting as they were.

There were days when the only contact she had with O'Reilly was through faxes he sent to update her on evidence and suspects. Other days he sat quietly next to the examination table, his hands folded neatly in his lap, keeping well out of everyone's way. Sometimes he would ask questions and when Temperance answered he'd nod once and write down what she said in the small notebook he carried with him. She suspected that he'd had some sort of medical training in his past but never bothered to ask, preferring to say as little as possible around him.

It wasn't that she didn't like him; he was an agreeable sort of man. She knew that the other members of the team enjoyed working with him, though they swore Booth was a better agent whenever she was around. Angela wished he was younger and better-looking, but she wished that of all the men who came through the Jeffersonian.

Once in a while she'd catch O'Reilly watching her, an expression of thoughtfulness on his well-lined face. The looks weren't like the ones Booth used to fix on her. He'd always appeared to be confused about something whenever she caught him staring, which seemed like every time she happened to glance at him. O'Reilly, though, had a look of friendly curiosity on his face.

Since their first day together when he'd mentioned her book, he'd been purely professional, only talking about the case and asking questions about what she was finding on the bones. At first she'd wondered if she should tell him something personal about herself, like Booth had suggested she do before asking questions, but she realized that there was nothing she really cared to know about the agent.

So she hadn't said anything other than to inform him of what she was doing or to report her findings. He, too, made no move to further get to know her.

She surveyed the three sets of remains during one of her rare moments of peace, not knowing what to do with herself now that she was alone. Cam had just left with a sample of soft tissue from the latest victim, murmuring under her breath about tox screens and her lunch break. She was the only one of them acting relatively normal without Booth, only casting Temperance one of those sympathetic smiles whenever she didn't think the anthropologist was looking.

The only reason Temperance knew it was happening was that in the last few years she'd gotten very good at knowing when people where watching her from behind. Booth always seemed to have his eyes turned in her direction.

She pulled her hair into a pony and snapped on a pair of gloves, savoring the crack they made against her skin. Too bad she didn't know what to do with the silence.

Bones were all that remained of two of the unfortunate males who had ended up in her lab. Without thinking about what she was doing, she ran a gloved finger along one man's skull, studying the face Angela had sketched him and asking him to give her some kind of hint as to who killed him.

_A name would be nice_, she thought, her finger breaching his supraorbital ridge. Angela had given him bushy eyebrows and sharp eyes that, for once, weren't locked straight ahead. He was looking to the right and Temperance followed his gaze.

He was staring at the latest victim, who had arrived in the lab that morning. Angela had finished the sketch days earlier, even before the second victim had been discovered, yet the man she had drawn seemed to be watching the man whose decomposing flesh still clung to his bones.

Temperance walked over, past another set of creamy white bones, and began her initial examination. As far as she could tell, he'd been between thirty and thirty-five, like the other two, and had died in a similar manner. There were signs of tearing in the shoulder area, and the few nicks on the bones she could see through the soft matter showed that his neck had been slashed in a way sure to sever his carotid.

Two surprisingly quiet hours later, she felt she'd gleaned everything she could from the bones as they were, and as far as she could tell, the victim had been murdered in the same brutal way as the other two sets of remains.

Zach had already preformed his preliminary exam and Temperance left the platform to find him, wanting his opinion on the tiny fractures on the scapulas.

She heard voices coming from the little portion of the lab that Zach and Hodgins had taken over years earlier, and though one surely belonged to Zach, the other did not come from Hodgins.

She stopped outside the doorway and listened, checking her watch. Hodgins should have been in there; when he wasn't conducting experiments or checking samples he was watching either her or Zach work.

Or performing unspeakable acts on Angela behind various doors of the Jeffersonian.

She closed her eyes and listened closer.

Zach laughed.

It wasn't a sound that Temperance heard often, and its light tone surprised her almost more than the fact that Zach was capable of producing a heartfelt laugh.

She waited, hoping to hear who it was that had been humorous enough to pull more than a sarcastic _ha _from her colleague.

Whoever it was didn't speak again, so she quietly stepped over the threshold, careful not to let her heels click against the floor. She didn't know why she was sneaking in, she could just waltz right in a ask Zach for his opinion. But something about the laugh made her hesitant. She didn't want to interrupt it.

Both men had their backs to her and neither noticed her entrance. She watched them, the older man who sat on a stool, wringing something in his hands and the younger scientist, bent at the waist with his eye hovering over a microscope.

O'Reilly shook his head, his silver hair catching the harsh light of the workspace. His little notebook lay abandoned between jars filled with organ-devouring beetles, looking every bit as though it had been tossed there.

The sight of the notebook almost hurt worse than seeing Zach working so easily with the man who had been sent to replace Booth. Here he was, allowing the agent to snatch up pieces of the lab and call them his own, while he stood by, comparing cross sections of bones under a microscope, something he could have been doing out on the platform with her.

"What I remember most," O'Reilly said, "was how damn _dry_ it was. I mean, air should have some water in it, you know what I mean?"

Zach straightened and removed a slide from the microscope. "Technically, there is water in the air. Condensation and evaporation are constantly occurring, and—"

O'Reilly allowed him to continue his lecture long after the point where Booth would have stopped him, chuckling quietly to himself while Zach peered into the microscope, still rattling off facts.

Temperance cocked her chin and strode up to Zach, interrupting him mid-rant. She told him that she needed the bones cleaned and asked him to examine the shoulder blades under high magnification, using very large words and hoping that O'Reilly wouldn't understand.

When she turned to leave, Zach looking slightly confused but picking right back up in his lecture, O'Reilly nodded his short, curt nod. "Dr. Brennan."

She nodded back.

She headed straight for her office, wondering why her hands were shaking and why her stomach was churning. When she got there, she collapsed into her chair, suddenly exhausted.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I had a really bad case of writer's block. I'm actually pretty happy with the way this chapter turned out. I've been trying to get ready for my creative writing class that I'll be taking next year and in this chapter I worked on similes/metaphors/figurative language. Let me know what you think of those, and of course it's always good to hear if Temperance's emotions are coming through. Thanks soooooooo much for all the great reviews so far!! They've really been inspirational! And I hope you all had a wonderful Fourth of July!!**

Booth's note quivered in her shaking hands.

She'd taken to carrying it with her all the time. Every morning she'd tuck it into her pocket and every night she'd place it on the counter where she'd found it. Sometimes she would pull it out of her pocket and read it, like she was doing now, and other times she'd just hold it in her hand. She didn't know why she did it, and she hated psychology, but she knew that for some reason the little yellow scrap of paper had a calming effect on her.

Something was happening to her that had never happened before, and she didn't like the feeling. She couldn't put her finger on just what it was, but it was flooding in faster than she could but up walls to hold it back.

For the last ten minutes she'd been reasoning with herself about what had just happened with Zach. _It's what Booth would have done._

The thought frustrated her. A sudden, overwhelming urge to crumple the note shot through her, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not make her trembling fingers scrunch together.

A hastily-built levee threatened to burst and she quickly tried to patch up the leaking holes, but the water was raging now and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Struggling harder now, she trudged through the rapids and began to fill in the empty spaces, but if the past had told her anything it was that her makeshift dams didn't hold up very well against the weather.

A shadowy figure appeared in her doorway and she jumped, swiping the tear away with one hand and hurriedly tucking the note away in her pocket with the other.

He knocked, even though the door was open.

"Temperance? Can we talk?"

She nodded, her engineer self still going to work on the complex network of locks and levees.

O'Reilly stepped into her office and slipped into the chair opposite hers, and though she was staring determinedly at a jumble of papers she'd been pretending to be signing off on, she could feel his eyes on her. Attempting to appear collected, she looped a signature at the bottom of one paper that she was fairly certain didn't even possess the need for her name. She placed her pen on the desk and lined it neatly with the papers before looking up to meet the agent's gaze.

His crystal clear eyes bore into hers and his head was cocked gently to one side, looking every bit as though he was ready to listen to what she had to say. A stray tuft of hair stuck straight up in the air.

The water surged through, knocking Engineer Brennan off her feet and sweeping her away.

"I don't have any updates for you. I'm sorry. I've had a lot on my mind lately." _Stop now. Stop talking. He doesn't need to know any more than that. _But it was too late; she'd gone too far already. "I know that shouldn't affect my work; my personal life and work life aren't supposed to—" She stopped, realizing that she'd revealed more to this man than she had to anyone in a very long time. And she'd hardly said anything at all.

"I didn't come for updates," he replied, his voice gentle but probing.

She sat back, crossed her arms over her chest. "Then what do you want?" Her own voice was hardening, closing him off. Engineer Brennan was on her hands and knees, sponging up the lake around her. The holes in her ever-growing wall were filling themselves.

This man was not going to get any more out of her.

_There's nothing more to give_, she told herself.

He settled into his chair. "I just wanted to talk."

She'd seen the way he'd pushed in and made a place for himself with Zach. The same thing was not going to happen in here.

She leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk. "I've just told you: I don't have any updates. When Zach," she continued, stressing his name, "finishes cleaning the bones we will discuss our findings and you will be the first to know what we've found. Until then, I would appreciate if you left so I can finish this paperwork." With what she hoped was a convincing wave of her hands, she gestured to the array of papers in front of her.

She'd thought he would listen. She'd thought he would sigh, get out of his chair and stretch his old man back, and leave her office so she would be able to finish mopping up the mess Booth had made.

But he didn't leave. He just moved in closer to her, his expression never changing. "I'm your partner, Dr. Brennan. You can talk to me."

If their closeness was meant to intimidate her, it didn't. Their faces were less than a foot apart and she could see that his face told a story; the deep wrinkles formed a roadmap of mountains and crevices. A few smooth, white scars stood out among the other landforms.

"You're not my partner."

He simply raised his eyebrows. "I am."

"Booth is my partner," she said, her voice taking on a new chill. "I agreed to work in conjunction with the FBI with Booth as my partner. I'll finish this case for you, but after that the museum will be my top priority. I won't have time for anything else."

"I was under the impression that you wanted to work with the FBI."

How he'd know about that she wasn't sure. Even for her it was almost difficult to remember a time when she'd had to fight for field work and visitor passes. And here he was, handing her an opportunity to continue doing what she loved, bringing in the bad guys and giving names to faceless bodies.

"Until Booth gets back, the only bones I'll be looking at are those that belong to people who lived thousands of years ago."

Finally he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, Temperance." The tone of his voice didn't quite match his words.

Once she was sure he was staying where he was in his seat, she leaned back, her chair squeaking a protest. "Why are you sorry?" she asked wearily.

"Cullen…we'll be working together. As partners," he added tentatively.

Temperance grabbed the closest paper, skimmed it, and scrawled a signature at the bottom. This conversation was finished.

O'Reilly had different ideas. He lifted the paper from her hands, and she jumped to snatch it back, not wanting him to see that it was just a draft page for her novel.

"Temperance—"

"I prefer Dr. Brennan, actually." She moved on to the next paper, a note Angela had left for her.

Behind the wire-rimmed glasses his eyes sharpened. "Fine." He stood so the chair was between himself and Temperance, almost as though using it as a shield. "I've made an effort, Dr. Brennan. That's more than you can say." He stopped before he reached the door. "There's a lot more to life than what's in here. I can tell that you understand that." He sighed. "You just need to acknowledge it."

-OoOoOoOo-

She wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up in this aisle of the local Wal-Mart. In fact, she couldn't really remember the drive over, or even the drive home from work. But when she'd gotten back to the apartment there hadn't been any milk in the refrigerator, and she could not eat Oreos without milk.

And somehow she'd wandered over to this aisle, half a gallon of milk in one hand and an extra package of Oreos in the other. She glanced up and down the vacant row, the bright colored boxes popping out at her.

She took a hesitant step into the aisle, hoping that entering it wouldn't seal her fate and still wondering how she'd ended up here. It could have been because, as a doctor, she knew as well as anyone that when a man and woman ended up naked in bed that there was a possibility of something more.

Or it could have been one of those gut feelings Booth was always talking about.

Gaining confidence now, she walked up the aisle and grabbed a box off the shelf, read the back of it. She put it back and took another, perusing the claims on the side as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the cashier to ring her up. The woman's skin was leathery, thick and brown from excessive tanning. She eyed the milk, cookies, and the bright pink box Temperance had finally decided on and offered a pinched smile. "Plastic okay, darlin'?"

Temperance nodded, fairly certain she didn't have a choice anyway. She itched to get home, and of course the woman took her sweet time packing the bag.

"Have a nice night, 'kay sweetie?" her voice rising as if posing it as a question.

Snatching the bag out of the woman's hands, Temperance muttered a thanks and forced herself to slow down as she headed to her car. Rushing couldn't change anything now.

The oncoming headlights beckoned to her, calling her backwards. She was tempted to turn around and follow the line of cars leaving the city, to follow the people who would go home to warm beds and lives where each day was planned out in advance.

Where there were no surprises.

The weeks Booth had been gone had dragged on, an eternity of wondering. When he'd said he didn't know when he'd be back, she'd thought maybe a week or two, but nearly three had passed and she'd heard nothing about his return. As far as she knew, her team didn't even know he was out of the country.

The bright white Wal-Mart bag caught the light of a passing car, illuminating it in an unearthly glow. Its contents formed bulges in the plastic, and pointy corners of the box pushed at its edges.

She pounded the steering wheel.

She almost missed her street; she'd been trying to push out all the thoughts, to drape herself in a blanket of serenity, but it wasn't working. Everything was swirling together, the thoughts rolling together in a tangle of strings she couldn't unknot.

Bag in one hand, keys in the other, she made her way up the stairs and unlocked the door to find her apartment the same as she'd left it: empty with the sense of loneliness hovering in the air.

She tossed the keys onto the counter. They skittered across its surface and clattered to the floor. She jumped at the sound, already heading towards the bathroom.

With shaking hands she opened the box and squatted over the toilet, thoughts of waterfalls and burbling rivers dancing around the ball of yarn that was growing larger and larger inside her skull.

It wasn't O'Reilly's fault that her partner was gone, she supposed. He just happened to be there at a time when she really didn't want him to be. But that didn't mean she had to like him.

She wondered why she was thinking about him at all while peeing on a stick.

She sat on the toilet seat while she waited the allotted time before checking to see the results, counting out the passing seconds in her head.

When she'd allowed sufficient time to pass, she slowly lowered her eyes and her breath caught in her throat.

She stared at the stick, wondering if it was better this way.


	8. Chapter 8

Booth shivered under his blanket, the biting wind sneaking through cracks in the ramshackle hotel he and Mark had holed up in for the night. Their mission had pulled them farther north, and as the snow drifts grew larger, the numbers on the thermometer grew smaller.

Rolling onto his side, Booth hugged his knees to his chest, try desperately to fit his entire goosebump-covered body under the scratchy wool blanket. Mark was snoring gruffly in the bed next to him, the bedsprings squeaking with each breath he took. Booth scowled at him. The cold wasn't bothering him, he had no woman back home to keep him from sleeping at night, and he was throwing himself into the mission in a way that was almost embarrassing.

Booth was giving his all to the mission, but without a daily dose of Bones, he had a hard time concentrating on everything he did. Surveillance had been a mess; all he could think about was Bones sitting beside him during their own little watches, her questioning everything he did while he kept one eye on the streets and the other on his partner. Paperwork was just as bad. It seemed that it was impossible for him to check boxes and sign his name on papers when she wasn't next to him.

But just walking down the street was the worst. Everywhere he looked he saw her. A fleeting movement. A toss of auburn hair. A throaty laugh. She'd taken over Canada, and she'd taken over him.

And then there was Mark, eager as a puppy, focused completely on the task at hand rather than daydreaming about a beautiful anthropologist back in D.C.

Booth blew into his hands, not sure if the puff of air he saw come from his mouth was just part of his imagination or not.

He glanced at his watch, squinting in the dark to read it. 12:03. She was probably curled up on the couch with a glass of wine, working on her novel. Or she'd be at the kitchen table, her nose inches away from one of those anthropology journals that she always pretended to find more interesting than him.

Booth drew the pillow out from under his head and hugged it to his body, imagining it was her, warm and comforting in his arms. Finally he drifted off to sleep.

-OoOoOoOo-

It wasn't a couch or the kitchen table but a toilet seat. There was no wine, and instead of an anthropology journal, a pregnancy test was clutched tightly in her hand.

There were no tears—not yet—but she hadn't dared to blink in a very long time and everything was beginning to blur together in a soft splash of colors. Her eyelids pulled together, and she snapped them back open, wondering if the results had changed.

They hadn't.

She slumped back, wondering what she was supposed to do next. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and dialing his number was something her hand did by itself.

Six rings later she remembered.

He wasn't going to answer.

The phone slipped from her quivering fingers and clunked dully when it hit the floor. She didn't notice, her eyes still glued to the little pink plus. Her world was beginning to blur again, but this time it was tears she had to blink away, not determination.

Without know why, she reached down and picked up the phone from where it had landed on a pile of dirty towels. She hit redial and counted the rings. No amount of preparation would have helped. His voice still took her by surprise, stealing her breath and flipping her stomach.

"Hey. Sorry, but I can't talk right now. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. This is Booth, by the way."

It was the same message she'd been asking him to change for years. The same message with Parker giggling in the background. The same message that had always been able to coax a smile out of her.

She wasn't smiling now, as the loud beep chirped in her ear, prompting her to leave a message. She listened to the empty air, not able to fill the silence because she didn't know what words to say. Chances were he would never get the message anyway.

A sob broke free right before another beep informed her that her time was up. She swiped at the tears now streaking down her cheeks. Was that all she was to him now? A thirty second message he would never hear?

Blindly she stepped over the Wal-Mart bag and headed for her bedroom. Her shoes were kicked off and she stripped to her underclothes. The sheets hardly smelled like Booth anymore, but she pulled them closer and imagined they did, telling herself that she was a strong, independent, intelligent, motivated, rational woman and that she would work things out.

-OoOoOoOo-

Temperance turned the skull in her hands, looking for even the tiniest abnormality that would give her a clue to the man's identity.

The longer she stared at it, the more the white bone began to look like a pink face. Unconsciously she added tissue markers, and actual tissue on top of that. With the arches of the zygomaticofacial and infraorbital foramens, he almost looked like…

Booth.

She set the skull back on the examination table and lowered herself to eyelevel, staring it down. The man it once belonged to had been dead longer than Booth had been gone; there was no way it was him. Still she couldn't help but wonder. What if he was gone too? She forced the thought away.

The grinning skull mocked her and she left the platform, her feet taking her toward Angela's office like they always did when she needed someone to put her thoughts into perspective for her.

Angela was programming new data into the Angelator, a look of determination etched across her fine features as she tested multiple scenarios. The determination turned to frustration when she ran out of situations to try. The images faded and Angela jumped when she saw Temperance standing on the other side of the room.

She was just opening her mouth to apologize, when Angela exclaimed, "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

No words escaped her lips because she didn't know what words to say. Angela seemed to understand; she guided the mute anthropologist into a chair and sat down in the one beside it, her hand still resting on Temperance's arm.

She wished she understood things the way Angela did. Whenever Hodgins was nearby she looked so _alive._ And even when he was gone there was still an extra sparkle in her eyes.

Angela's hand was warm against her skin. She imagined some of Angela's happiness leaking out of her fingers and soaking into her.

"Osmosis," she whispered.

Angela raised her eyebrows, waiting for Temperance to explain herself.

"The passage of a substance from a region of high concentration to a region of low concentration," she murmured in a low voice, more to herself than to Angela.

Angela still said nothing.

Her nails were painted a deep maroon. Her little finger twitched almost imperceptibly.

Temperance felt nothing.

Of course she didn't. Osmosis was something water did, not happiness.

The words tumbled from her mouth before she could pause to hold them back. "I'm pregnant."

Angela's hand fell from Temperance's arm and she slipped from her chair to draw her friend into a tight embrace. Temperance rested her chin on Angela's shoulder, amazed at how just being in another human's arms could feel so comforting.

"Oh, sweetie," Angela cooed when she had stepped back. "Do yo—"

"It's Booth's."

Temperance wasn't sure what she'd expected. Maybe squealing or one loud, excited screech. Possibly a few jumps up and down and an extra-tight hug.

If it had been anywhere on her list, the stunned silence Angela was maintaining would have been dead last.

Feeling as though she had somehow disappointed Angela, Temperance fiddled with a tissue she'd found in her pocket, twisting it into little pieces in her lap. Her eyes were glued to the feathery scraps when she suddenly felt Angela's hands on her knees. "Sweetie."

Temperance looked up from the snowy mess on her legs. Angela was kneeling in front of her, her face showing so many things that Temperance didn't think she could name them all. Worry, curiosity, and a hint of thrill where out in plain view, but buried underneath were emotions Temperance only wished she could understand.

When finally Angela's intense stare become too much, Temperance reached into her pocket again, but this time it wasn't for a Kleenex. Her fingers closed around Booth's note.

With strangely steady fingers Temperance unfolded the paper, and though she'd read the words a thousand times, she read them once more before handing it over to Angela.

Angela hesitantly took the note and sought reassurance in Temperance's eyes before looking at it.

Temperance nodded.

She read it. Four times, as far as Temperance could tell. Realization dawned on her face as she recognized Booth's handwriting.

"What is love, Angela?"

Her voice was quiet, the question asked timidly. It was something that had plagued her overworked brain since she'd found the note on her counter. Since then it had followed her everywhere, from old movies to songs on the radio to the novels she read. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

She couldn't escape it and even when she tried, refusing to flip on the television or radio and sticking to case files and scientific journals, she still couldn't help but open Booth's note every night before she fell asleep.

It didn't matter how many times she'd studied the note, she couldn't figure it out. Sure, she knew about love. She understood the love that made her parents leave when she was fifteen and could see why Booth loved Parker.

She just couldn't figure out why he thought he had to love her.

Angela had moved back to her chair and had Temperance's hand clasped tightly in her own. "Oh, sweetie." Her eyes sparkled animatedly and she was smiling, the initial shock of Temperance and Booth naked together gradually subsiding. Temperance wondered how many times she was going to be called 'sweetie' in this conversation. "I don't even know where to start."

Temperance waited patiently while Angela pooled her thoughts, slightly worried she wouldn't understand anyway. Everyone thought she was incredibly intelligent, a genius even, but there were different types of genius, different ways to be intelligent.

"You target his arrows," Angela finally said, breaking the silence.

Temperance decided against pointing out the fact that Booth had never shot at her and that his gun—not bow—was usually turned in the direction of the people he dubbed as the bad guys.

Seeing her unspoken confusion, Angela thought for a moment and tried again. "He feels like home."

Temperance frowned, lost.

Angela was warming up and rushed right into her next explanation. "Love is the way your stomach seems to drop when he walks into the room. It's why when he's talking to you, all you can think about is how his voice is enveloping you and how bad you curl up in it. It's sweaty hands and nervous stuttering and weak knees."

She was still talking, but Temperance hadn't heard much after Angela's description of stomach-dropping. "Wait, that's _love_?"

Angela stopped between 'all you can think about' and 'justifies your existence' and took a deep breath. "Yes. It is." She smiled.

"I—I need to go," Temperance stammered. She slipped her hand from Angela's and hurried from the office. "Would you tell Cam, please?" she threw over her shoulder, not waiting for a reply.

It had been awhile since she'd drive home in the middle of the day. Everything looked so different bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. Rain was forecasted for later that night, but for now only a few fluffy clouds dotted the clean blue sky.

The things Angela had said kept playing in her mind, an endless stream of words she was trying to put sense into.

Apparently she'd been in love for a very long time.


End file.
